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7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Connor wanted to talk to Jackson again—but this time it was him who escaped early.

Jackson might believe that Connor had been giving him the cold shoulder the last few days, but the truth was, their avoidance almost certainly had the same reason.

Connor had been pissed. It had been undeniable. But he'd also been working through some of the realizations Tristan had helped him see.

He had a feeling Jackson was trying to escape the sexual tension by doing the same.

It sucked, not waking up to see all that hotness sprawled in the bed next to him, but Connor could be patient, when he had to be, and he knew nothing good could come of him rushing this.

Because he knew now it was going to happen. It was inevitable.

He hadn't been nearly as confident as Tristan that Jackson was interested—or attracted—to him, but after last night, he'd rethought his position.

Jackson was locked down tight, but it had been obvious when Connor sat on his bed he'd nearly swallowed his tongue. He'd been undeniably surprised, looking like he loved it and hated it in equal measures. Then the heat in his eyes when Connor had stripped his shirt off?

He'd never been looked at like that before. Never, ever wanted a guy to look at him like that. But it had nearly killed him to turn the light off. Long after it had gone off, he'd lain there, in silence, listening to Jackson's breathing only a few feet away and wondered what he'd do if Connor shed his sweatpants and climbed into bed with him.

Would he fight it?

Or would he show Connor exactly the kind of pleasure he'd been missing?

It had taken him ages to actually fall asleep. Ages for his dick to finally get soft. But when he had finally dropped off, his dreams had left him shaken and even more aroused than before.

This morning, he reached for his phone and texted Tristan.

You were right. And don't be a smug jerk about it, okay?

Tristan's response was almost immediate. Of course I was. You make a move, yet?

Not exactly.

When he'd pumped Charlie for more info, the other day, the best he'd been able to learn was that Jackson hadn't been known to be involved with anyone, in baseball or otherwise.

Connor had been a little incredulous, but as he'd thought about it more, he'd realized why.

Jackson was trying very hard—probably too hard—to keep these two parts of his life separate.

Maybe he wouldn't be as eager as Connor to cross a few lines.

But Connor was stubborn, too. And he wasn't about to let this situation go without getting a taste of what he craved.

Why not?

Because it's complicated. We're teammates. We're roommates. I'd think you'd get that.

Ugh, Tristan texted back, I regret telling you all those details about how Wade and I got together.Come on—throw caution to the wind and just make a move. And then tell me all about it, okay?

Connor chuckled. You don't ever regret oversharing anything in your whole goddamn life.

True. If only it would encourage others (HINT HINT) to do the same, Tristan texted back.

Connor laughed out loud.

How about this, I'll do it when the time's right. Maybe I can even seduce him into making the move.

That would make everything easier, of course. But Jackson was so self-contained, so rigidly controlled, so obviously determined to keep his sexuality separate from baseball, Connor wasn't sure what kind of seductive moves he could pull out that could move the unmovable.

He would probably have to be the one making the moves—but he was okay with that situation. At least he would be, by the time it happened.

And you'll tell me all about it?

Connor could practically hear the hopeful note in Tristan's voice.

We'll see.

Connor had never felt one way or the other about dishing details of his hookups, but there was already something about Jackson—and not only that he was a man, and Connor had never hooked up with a guy before—that got under his skin, and he wanted to keep there.

Before this, he'd have forcibly ignored it. Tried to get rid of it.

But Connor liked the way Jackson felt, buried deep like that.

Like it was exactly where he belonged.

Maybe that should've unsettled him more than it did, but it felt good. Less lonely, for sure.

When he made his way down to breakfast, Ro and TJ were there, and surprisingly, Jackson was sitting with them.

He glanced up, dark eyes meeting Connor's, and it felt like a thousand emotions traveled across their connection in only a few seconds.

Recognition.

Acknowledgment.

Attraction.

Frustration.

Lust.

Oh. Yeah. Jackson Evans definitely wanted him.

Connor grabbed a plate, filled it with eggs and sausage, picked up a few yogurts, and sat down, shifting the chair a little closer to Jackson's.

Jackson cleared his throat but didn't move away, even when Connor's foot, at the end of his ridiculously long leg, brushed Jackson's calf.

"Sleep alright?" Ro asked him.

"Yeah, I guess so. Bed's comfortable, just had trouble falling asleep." Connor glanced over at Jackson and watched as the slightest tremor moved across his expression. He was locked down tight, but now that Connor had seen the crack in his armor, it was easier to read him. Not easy, by any means, but easier.

"Nervous?" TJ asked and Ro smacked him in the arm.

"'Cause asking him if he's nervous is going to make him less nervous," Ro hissed under his breath.

"Not any more than normal," Connor said. Not mentioning that normally his starts very much made him nervous. A ball of tight anxiety, tucked right into his gut. "Besides, last outing was pretty decent. And I threw a great practice session yesterday."

"Yeah, you did." Jackson entered the conversation with a voice rough from sleep.

"When is your next start?" TJ asked.

"Tomorrow," Connor said.

"Well, I'm gonna go grab a workout since I'm fairly sure I'm gonna be stuck on the bench again today," Jackson said, finishing his coffee and standing.

Was Jackson avoiding him now?

You did it, you should recognize the gesture, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jackson's echoed in his head.

"What's his issue?" Ro asked under his breath after Jackson had already left.

"Maybe he just wants to work out," TJ said. "You seen the guy? He's fucking built. And you know he's right. Skip's probably gonna have him riding the bench again."

"Shouldn't he be splitting time with Charlie?" Connor ventured.

Ro and TJ looked at him like he'd just lost his mind. "Wait, you want him to be a catcher in the rotation now? I thought you couldn't stand the guy."

Connor really wasn't sure he liked Jackson, but he was annoyingly right a lot of the time. And then there was the attraction burning between them.

Did all that add up to like? Connor wasn't sure yet.

"I don't have to like him to know he's a damn good baseball player."

"That mean you're gonna listen to him now?" Ro teased.

"When he makes sense, sure," Connor said. But he knew, deep down, that even Jackson was going to have trouble untangling the anxiety inside him.

It had been a part of him for so long, holding back his progress, he didn't know what he'd be without it. Jackson was good, but was he that good?

"You can't help it, can you?" TJ asked, good-naturedly slapping him on the back.

"Can't help what?"

"That self-destructive streak."

Oh, if TJ only knew.

"I'll try to contain it, but only for you, TJ," Connor retorted sarcastically. He finished his last bite and stood. "Maybe I'll get a workout in too."

"You?" Ro asked with a laugh.

"Hey, I work out," Connor insisted.

"You sure you aren't followin' Jackson around? Maybe trying to suck up?" TJ wondered.

TJ had known Jackson in Ohio. It was very possible he knew Jackson's "open secret." For a moment, Connor almost considered denying the accusation hotly, like that was the worst thing in the world he could be doing. Insisting, without using the words, that it wasn't like that.

Except, it was exactly like that.

Connor took a calming breath. "Maybe I am," he teased, keeping his voice light. "You jealous, TJ?"

"A little," TJ grumbled good-naturedly, and just like that, the moment was over.

But as Connor grabbed his headphones from the room and headed down to the bottom level of the hotel where the gym was located, he realized that while maybe that was the first time he'd faced the insinuation, if he ended up getting involved with Jackson—or any other man—it wouldn't be the last time he came up against that kind of accusation.

He was lucky. He liked women, too, and he could probably keep the ugly looks and the snide comments to a minimum, if not eliminate them entirely. But Jackson couldn't do that. They'd follow him around, forever.

Connor pushed open the gym door and nearly stopped in his tracks.

Jackson's back was to him, and he was wearing one of those flimsy tanks—the sleeves cut deeply and unevenly out of an old threadbare T-shirt—and he was doing curls, the muscles clenching and trembling as he went through his reps.

God, his body was a fucking work of art.

All broad shoulders, slim hips, thick thighs, and those flawlessly cut arms.

Connor had seen muscular men before, but he'd never seen anyone as beautiful as Jackson. Certainly, he'd never wanted any of them. Not until now.

Jackson finished his reps, and with a show of complete control, let the weights down with only a gentle tap. He stood, stretching, and Connor knew the moment he spotted him, still in the doorway.

"Oh. It's just you," Jackson said shortly.

"Just me," Connor said. He headed over towards the treadmill, did a few stretches, taking his time, aware the whole time of how pointedly Jackson was ignoring him.

He climbed on, hooked his earbuds in, but didn't turn the music on. Setting the pace on a comfortable jog, he started to run. But unlike Jackson, who seemed to be looking everywhere but at him, he kept his eyes right on the prize: where Jackson was sweating through his next set of reps, like even Connor's appearance wasn't enough to move him off course.

And okay, yes, Connor was new to this. Jackson was not. Jackson was probably used to compartmentalizing a hell of a lot better—because the truth was, Connor wasn't able to compartmentalize at all.

Now that he'd had this realization, now that he knew exactly what he wanted, he wanted to go after it with a single-minded focus he rarely felt.

It was almost enough to let his legs go on autopilot, jogging out the tiny bit of soreness from yesterday's practice session, and just look his fill as Jackson lifted what Connor knew to be a lot of weight.

The man was a freaking beast.

A gorgeous beast, especially like this, sweat damp on his forehead and on his tank, the dark spot of perspiration sticking to the small of his back.

Because Connor couldn't stop looking, he knew the exact moment Jackson looked back.

The intensity of that stare—like he'd been saving it up, only allowing himself one single look—hit Connor like a freight train and for a second, he felt everything and nothing. And then, the next second, he apparently forgot how his legs were supposed to work, because he stumbled and nearly fell right off the back of the treadmill.

Jackson chuckled darkly, and Connor hit stop on the treadmill before he did something even more foolish, like broke his leg because a guy was checking him out.

It wasn't the first time, not by a long shot, but it was the first time it had made him feel like this. Warm and buzzy, in the base of his stomach.

"You alright?" Jackson drawled, the corner of his mouth still quirking up in amusement as he used a towel to wipe down the last machine he'd used. Then he wiped his face, taking his time to scrub the last of the sweat off.

Take off your shirt! Come on! Do it!

But he didn't, and of course, Connor wasn't nearly confident enough to actually ask.

"Yeah, just fine," Connor said, stumbling over his words the same way he'd just stumbled over his feet.

"Don't want to break a leg," Jackson warned.

"No shit," Connor retorted.

He was only heartened by the fact that his expression a minute ago was probably much the same as Jackson's had been last night, right before he'd flipped the light off.

It's not just you.You're not the only one affected; he's just way better at hiding it.

Connor didn't want him to hide it though. He wanted to draw it out, draw it into the light.

"Why do you do all that?" Connor asked, gesturing to the weight machines.

Jackson paused in the middle of his stretches. "The weights?"

Connor nodded.

"You know we're athletes, right? Supposed to stay in shape," Jackson teased.

"But you're the only one here."

"Okay, fair." Jackson hesitated. "Early on I learned that nobody wanted to pick a fight if I was the biggest, strongest guy on the team."

"People picked on you?"

Jackson sighed and didn't answer.

"You can tell me," Connor said, trying to persuade him to open up. Maybe if he did, he'd be more open in general. Like open to taking off his shirt.

"Never overtly," Jackson finally said. "But it was enough."

Connor thought about the insinuation TJ had made earlier—and TJ was a friend, TJ was a guy he liked, who liked him back. What would that have been like if it wasn't someone who respected him? Who didn't like him?

"And you becoming a cross between Captain America and Thor fixed that for you?"

"Enough," Jackson said.

It was funny how the guy couldn't stop talking when it came to Connor's pitching, but when the spotlight turned on him, he could barely get a handful of words out.

It drove Connor a little wild.

Made him more determined than ever.

What was Jackson Evans really like, under all that reticence?

Maybe if he found out, he would like him, and more.

Connor definitely didn't think it would change his stance on getting him naked—and more.

"Well, the point I made last night still stands. You got an issue with this team, with the Rogues, I'm happy to help."

Jackson raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe you could handle it better—you're certainly . . .uh . . .bigger . . .and stronger . . .but I've been on this team for almost a whole season now. The guys listen to me."

"'Cause they all think you're going to the show, someday," Jackson said frankly.

"I'm a leader," Connor tried to argue. Wanted to believe it.

"In the minors, there are no real leaders," Jackson said. "Only the ones everyone knows are talented enough to make it and the ones that aren't. Sooner you learn that, the better." He picked up his phone and started to walk out of the room and, jog abandoned, Connor trailed after him.

"I'm not a naive kid," Connor insisted.

Jackson glanced over at him. "No?"

"No," Connor said. The elevator dinged and they walked inside.

"Then stop being naive," Jackson said, but he was clearly trying to hold back a smile. Connor didn't think he'd ever spent so much time looking at someone else's lips. Jackson's were deep pink and surprisingly curvy for a man's. What would they feel like on Connor's own? Or on other parts of Connor's body?

Connor felt himself flush hot.

"Maybe you could help me out with that," Connor said, trying for the same flirty tone that worked so well with girls.

The elevator dinged open and Jackson only shot him a mostly incredulous look before exiting and heading at a solid clip down the hallway towards the room.

But before he stuck the key card in the lock, Jackson turned abruptly. So abruptly Connor nearly ran into him.

"I don't know what you're doing," he said bluntly, "but it's weird. Stop."

"I . . .uh . . ." Connor stammered.

"Is it some kind of test? They want to know if I'll lose control? Well, I won't. You can stop trying right now."

"It's not anything," Connor insisted. "I'm just trying . . ." To flirt with you. To hit on you.

"Just stop then," Jackson said with finality and stuck the key card in its slot and opened the door.

It occurred to Connor as he sat down on the edge of the bed, hearing the shower turn on in the bathroom, that Jackson actually believed he was fucking with him. And not really fucking with him but having him on. Flirting with him even if he was straight. Trying to torment him.

It didn't occur to him, it wasn't even on his freaking radar, that Connor might be feeling the same way he did.

Didn't that say it all?

He didn't need to text Tristan to ask him what he needed to do, because he already knew. He wasn't going to be able to get by with the same kind of flirting he did with girls; he was going to have to be a hell of a lot more direct.

He was going to have to find the courage to tell Jackson the whole truth.

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